


Dancing In A Snowglobe

by QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen



Category: All Related Nutcracker Fandoms, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken, The Language of Thorns - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: And fancy shit, Based on the Nutcracker and The Soldier Prince by Leigh Bardugo, Cuuuz I love her, Did I mention that Spot was a nutcracker? I mean an actual fucking nutcracker, Disappearance, Doesn't matter, Dolls come to life, I lasted like....2 days without writing about these idiots?, I really have no idea, It's like a blend, Jack and Race are brothers, Jack is sorta of a Frik but less of a dick, Leigh Bardugo Soldier Prince, M/M, Magic, Magic and shit, Mystery, Race and Jack start as kids but over time age, Race is Clara but a boy, Spot gotta go off and find Race, Spot is a nutcracker, Spot is legit magic, Sugar plum fairies, Time period is like.....IDk, Warrior shows up again, bad guy is unknown, rat kings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-14
Updated: 2018-12-23
Packaged: 2019-09-17 20:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 13,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16981452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen/pseuds/QueenOfMotherfuckingTerrasen
Summary: Spot is a nutcracker. A magic nutcracker but a nutcracker all the same. He was given to Anthony 'Racetrack' Higgins on Christmas day when Race was only eight. Things have changed since then. Spot is kept in a cabinet in the dining room instead fo Race's room. Now a boy of seventeen, Race spends more time at parties or at school than he used to. But one day, Race goes missing, his bed unslept in with footprints in the snow leading to the woods. With all the chaos, no one notices that a short boy slipping out of the house. No one noticed that he was dressed in a soldier's uniform with a familiar scowl on his face. Spot is a nutcracker, a magic nutcracker, and he's going to find Race no matter what.





	1. Yes. I am a nutcracker. a m a g i c nutcracker.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Buckle in, this is going to be a wild ride.
> 
> I got through like a day without writing about these idiots? Then I come up with this idea. This is gunna be wild.

Spot Conlon had only been three places in his life. The first was the workshop of his father. Drosselmeyer was an interesting man who spent his time carving toys out of wood. There were rumors that he used magic in his carvings, to bring them to alive. He had carved Spot a battalion of brothers, painted with rosy cheeks but with stern faces similar to Spot’s. The time spent in his father’s shop was not awful, although Spot’s back still ached from remembering how rigid he stood in his window display. He stood next to a smirking doll that called herself ‘Warrior’ when all the humans left and they were allowed to move.  

He’d miss the parties though, with the lights off and the humans tucked in their beds. The fellow toys would shake their joints, hop down from their stands, the delicate ones were carefully carried by the more sturdy, and start dancing. Drosselmeyer was known for carving little instruments, violins with actual working strings, trumpets that blew, and drums that beat. The room was filled with tiny music as the toys danced with each other. Warrior and Spot shared a dance once or twice before Warrior flirted with one of the princess carvings and danced with her all night.

Unfortunately, all good things must come to an end. Spot was bought by a big-man, taken off his stand and wrapped up carefully. When no one was looking, Warrior turned her head to watch, her eyes filled with what seemed to be tears. _It’s probably only paint_. Spot thought as the lid closed and the box was lifted, jolting him about.

Spot was surprised that he was bought at all. Since the day that Drosselmeyer placed him on his stand, people came in and remarked what an odd little nutcracker Spot was. Not only was he shorter than a stereotypical nutcracker, but he also had no beard, mustache, or white hair. He actually looked young, with dark brown hair and freckles painted across his nose. He was dressed in a military uniform, a cap set on his dark curls. His siblings were odd looking themselves. Warrior was a princess that wore pants and a cape!

 _Guess I’m not as odd as I thought._ A voice snaked in his head. Some of Drosselmeyer toys were never bought, Warrior was one of them. When Spot was finished, he wanted to leave the store. To be bought.   _I’m perfect._ He’d thought at the time, standing proudly in his stand, but his confidence was shattered by the first person who saw him.

“What an odd little nutcracker!” She cried, gently picking him up. Spot managed to remain calm, although he wanted to frown. _Odd? I’m not odd._ He thought, disheartened. At first, he stayed positive but more and more people saw Spot and said a similar remark. By the end of the day, Spot knew no one was never going to buy him. Warrior, always daring, jumped down, nearly startling him.

“Who cares what the big people think?? They don’t matter!” She’d called up to him, still getting used to moving his joints.

“I think that you’re right.” He climbed down slower. Sure, he was odd looking but he wasn’t going to make it worse by chipping his paint!

“Of course, I’m right!” cheered Warrior, “I’m a princess!” They shared a laugh. Warrior taught Spot how to dance that night, how to loosen his joints faster, and how to land without chipping any paint or breaking himself. There were plenty of brothers and sisters that were like him, too odd looking for anyone to buy and were fine with it. Yet here was Spot, tucked away in a box, going somewhere.

Spot was unsure of how long he remained in the box. Without being able to see the sun or a clock, he didn’t even know if it was the same day, month, or season. Around him was the noise of big people fussing, his box was wrapped up with something else. Spot didn’t know what it was, nor did he like the sound of it. Then the box was set down, Spot still stuck inside. “They have to open me...right?” Spot muttered to himself after everything had gone quiet. He thought wistfully about the shop. The others would be dancing by now. He could see Warrior jump down from her stand and walk about to Cass to dance with her. Spot sighed, shut his eyes, and settled into an uneasy sleep.

When Spot awoke, there were loud noises all around him. The sound of children happy babbling and excited giggles. The clicks of dog paws against a tiled floor. Music, not too different from the kind he was used to. Spot listened, a small loose on his lips. Then, all of sudden there was a calling. “It’s time to open presents!!!” Spot blinked and quickly set his face in it’s natural, painted look.

His box was picked up, Spot jolting with it. The big person checked the tag and called out a name. “Race??? Whose’s Race??” Spot perked up. It was his father! His father was here!

“That’s me!!!” called out another in response, much higher and happier. A child.

“Anthony!!!” scowled one of his parents. “Stop telling people to call you, Racetrack!!!”

“But mooommmmm!!!” cried Race.

There was some mixed laughter. Then Father spoke again. “Now, now, Althea, he’s just a child. Come here, Race.” There were some footsteps before his father continued. “Now this is for you, I think you will like it.” Spot felt his box move from his father’s hand to Race’s.

“Can I open it???”

“You may,”  said Father.

The wrapping around the box started to be ripped apart until it was all gone, and Race started to work on the box. As he reached the inner box, Race sat down and continued to open it. He peered inside. Waiting for him was a nutcracker, a rather unusual looking one. With gentle fingers, Race picked it up, beholding it. It had a stern face, one set in almost a grimace. There was no beard or mustache and it looked more boy than a soldier. It was odd looking but Racetrack didn’t care. He beamed, hugging the nutcracker close to him.

“I love it!”

Spot stayed unblinking, although he took in the hall with his eyes. It was big and grand, Race’s parents must be very rich. There were many candles and wreathes, behind them was a gigantic Christmas tree, decorated with ornaments of all shapes, colors, and sizes. He wanted to see everything, explore every room, but for now, he stayed still. Very still.  Father patted Race’s head, allowing him to run off. He took Spot to a little-hidden corner and sat him down in front of him.

“Hi, I’m Race!! Everyone calls me Anthony buuuuuut.” The little boy, no more than eight, made a face at his real name. “You can call me Race!” Race smiled wide. “What’s your name??”continued

  
And against his better judgment, Spot answered. “Spot.” Race’s bright blue eyes widened to the size of saucers plates. Spot immediately regretted his decision but Race didn’t call out or scream or worse throw him in the fireplace.

“Hi, Spot!!” The boy instead cheered.

“Do you think I’m odd looking?” Spot felt his tongue uncurl.

Race considered it for a moment then shook his head. “I think you look wonderful!!”

Spot blinked his brown painted eyes. Then he felt himself smile. For the rest of the night, the little boy and the nutcracker talked. Occasionally, Race went out and brought back a walnut for Spot to crack. The taste was salty, Spot didn’t care for it but he did it for the sheer sake of Race’s smile.

At the end of the night, Race’s mother found them. “Race, it’s time to put the Nutcracker in the cabinet.” Race clutched Spot to his chest and shook his head. His mother, too exhausted to fight, sighed. “Fine, fine. You can sleep with it.” She kissed her son’s golden curls and sent him up to bed. The room was already dark, Jack was fast asleep. Race brushed his teeth, wiggled on his pajamas, and climbed into bed. He pulled Spot under the covers after turning off the lights.

“Night, Spot!”

“Nigh, Racer.”


	2. Where Have You Gone? I miss you.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time goes on, things change.

For a long time, Race took Spot wherever he went. Minus the bathroom, of course. He took Spot to his leassons, sledding, even on family trips. His brother, Jack teased him for it but then he reminded him that Jack also brough around his own toy. A small doll dressed up like a newsie, in a blue plaid shirt and a cap, that Jack called ‘Davey’. Davey was another one of Drosslmeyer’s creations, Spot remembered that he was smart but awkward to dance with.

Spot was happy to chat with Davey at night, happy that every day was another adventure with Race. The four of them had adventures everyday, after Race figured out a little piece of magic. It was an accident the first time, when Race was eleven. Race and Spot were hiding out in the attic. Race rested on his side, Spot set out in front of him. After an afternoon of reading fairytales and daydreams, Race’s head was still in the clouds.  He opened his mouth and words just spilled out.

“Are you my soldier?”

“Are you my prince?”

“Are you my darling?”

“Are you mine?”

For a long time, Spot was quiet. Then he spoke.

_Are you my soldier?_

“I am.”

_Are you my prince?_

“I am.”

_Are you my darling?_

“I am.”

_Are you mine?_

“I am.”

It seemed impossible but with every answer, Spot grew until another eleven year old boy was sitting in front of Racetrack, in a soldier’s unifrom with dark curls and eyes. They stared at eachother, eyes wide with disbelief. “Spot…?” Race asked carefully.

Spot was shocked himself. _This is what skin feels like._ He pressed a hand over his chest, feeling a faint **thump, thump, thump**. Then he found his voice. “Hey, Racer,”

“Spot!!” Race hugged him, damn near crashing into him. Luckily, Spot was sturdier and stayed upright.

“Whoa! Hey, Racer!”

“You’re alive!”

“Yeah….” Spot said uneasily. _Was_ he alive? He felt _alive…_ but was he?

“Let’s go outside!!!” cheered Race, already pulling Spot to the stairs. Somewhere along the way, they found extra coats and gloves for Spot. Race wrapped a scarf around the formor nutcracker’s neck and raced out the front door. Spot followed with hesitation.

Spot found that he, in fact, loved the snow. He loved how the cold wind felt against his fast, how it made his fingers numb, and how the flakes got stuck in Race’s lashes. Truth be told, he had the time of his life. They made snow forts, had a snow ball fight, ran around alot. His heart pounded, his lungs heaved. Spot was winded for the first time in his life _and he loved it._ But like those long ago parties at his father’s workshop, all good things come to an end. One minute, Spot was standing on his own two feet, not very tall but still, then the next, he turned back into a nutcracker, wood and cracking jaw. Race quickly picked him up and rushed him inside before his wood got damaged. A frown danced on both of their lips.

After the first time, Spot shifted into a boy more often, often when the house was empty or they were outside. Always, their fun ended too soon with someone coming home or Spot turning back into a nutcracker. But over the years, the reason changed. Race’s mother finally won the long standing battle of keeping Spot and Davey in the cabinet in the dinning room. Jack and Race were suddenly busy at school or at parties. Spot went months without seeing Race.

“I miss them.” Davey whispered one night.

“I do too.” Spot whispered back. They were brothers not only in carver but in sadness. Davey pinned for Jack while Spot wanted nothing more than to see Race. Eventually, neither of them bothered to stay awake. They slept for longer and longer, their eyes still open. They woke only for Christmas and New Year, when their father was invited for dinner. After the grand meal, he’d take out his children from the cabinet. He’d inspect Davey first, then Spot. He looked them over for damage before returning them to their prison.

The Higgins were throwing their annual Christmas party. Spot and Davey watched maids flit from room to room, filling the halls with decorations, smelt the food being prepared in the big kitchen. “They haven’t had a party in forever,” Davey whispered, his lips barely moving. Spot nodded, barely. They watched for a while before settling back into their sleep. They’d wake again when their father arrived.  

 Only something about this Christmas was different. Spot awoke to the cabinet door being opened, someone gently picking him up. _“Are you my soldier?”_ came a whisper. Spot’s eyes snapped open to find Racetrack Higgins holding him. _Oh, he’s beautiful,_ thought Spot.  Seventeen with golden curls, bright blue eyes, long limbs, and...and….Spot could go on forever, if he could speak. Instead he stared at Race.

“Are you my prince?”

“Are you my darling?”

“Are you mine?” There was a look in Race’s eyes, as if he wasn’t sure that this was going to work. As if all the memories were simply illusions of a childhood and that Spot was always a nutcracker. _Only_ a nutcracker. Except Spot wasn’t _only_ a nutcracker. Spot was _magic nutcracker_.

_Are you my soldier?_

“I am.”

_Are you my prince?_

“I am.”

_Are you my darling?_

“I am.”

_Are you mine?_

“I am.” With those final words, Spot changed, right in Race’s arms. Wood became soft skin, splattered with freckles, his eyes were no longer painted, dark and rich that were almost black like the night sky. He was shorter than Race but he didn’t mind. Race reached and took off Spot’s cap.

“You're real,” He whispered in disbelief.

“I am,” Spot was sick of saying those two words but they were so easy to say. So simple. 

“Come on.” Race started leading him out of the dinning room. “Dance with me,” He brought him to the ballroom where they first met, where music played. They danced, where Spot learned the steps, he did not know. Race introduced Spot to his parents as a friend from school. “He’s a soldier,” Race lied smoothly, smiling.

“And where are you to be stationed?” asked Mr. Higgins.

Spot said the first place that popped in his head. “Brooklyn.”

Mr.Higgins nodded, as if that was the right answer, before moving on to the next guest. For most of the evening, Race tugged Spot around, either dancing or talking with him. It had been years since they chatted, Spot felt slightly uneasy but it disappeared whenever Racer opened his mouth, whenever he smiled that certain way. In the corner of his eye, he saw Jack dancing with a black haired beauty, dressed in a blue suit. He looked familar but Race pulled him away before he could get a better look.

They were standing under the stairs, Race was still looking at him with awe in his eyes. “Hey, Spotty,”

“What, Racer -” Then Race kissed him, pressing their lips together. His lips were cold, tasting of the apple tart that he b had earlier. Spot, as always, tasted like walnuts. _His lips are like snow,_ Spot thought. Oh, how he missed snow. How he loved it. Too soon, Race pulled away.

“Enjoy the party, Spot. I’ll see you in my room,” Race said with a smile before returning to the party, disappearing in the crowd. Spot stayed under the stairs in disbelief for a few seconds before going after him but no matter how hard he tried, Spot couldn’t find Race in the crowd. Later the next morning, a servant girl found the nutcracker, sitting in one of the dinning room chairs.

She frowned, her brows furrowed. “How on earth did you get here?” She placed him back in the cabinet, shutting the door. This was hours before the great calamity. There was a scream, crying as well. Althea Higgins found Anthony Higgins was missing. His bed hadn’t been slept in, a set of footprints led to the woods along with drag marks.

Spot opened his eyes as people rushed in and out of the dinning room, news carrying fast. Normally, he wouldn’t have cared but then he heard it. “Master Race has been kidnapped,” If he had a heart, it would have stopped. His blood would have ran cold, an icy rage taking control of his body. But Spot didn’t have a heart or blood but he had rage. When all had left, he stood and pressed against the glass.

Davey woke up as he opened the cabinet door. “Spot?” He blinked the sleep out of his eyes then cried as Spot threw himself off the ledge. “Spot!!” If Davey had a heart, it would have stopped as he watched his brother shatter on the floor, essentially  committing suicide. Luckily, Spot remembered his sister’s instructions from years ago. He landed without shattering, standing up and starting to march to the door.

Race wasn’t there to say the magic words, that could be a problem. However, Spot had memories, those had power. He thought of Race, speaking the words that always seemed to turn Spot from wood to flesh.

_Are you my soldier?_

“I am.”

_Are you my prince?_

“I am.”

_Are you my darling?_

“I am.”

_Are you mine?_

“I am!” In no time, Spot grew into a man, not sparing time to think of it as he grabbed a coat from the rank and tugged it on. Didn’t not think as he wrapped up a scarf, put on gloves before slipping out the door. In the chaos, no one noticed a soldier slipping out of the house. In the chaos, no one noticed he had a familar face, a familar scowl, heading out towards the wood with his back squared. A man on a mission.

“I’m going to find you, Racetrack.” He promised to himself, to the wind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one day. That's a record.


	3. The word you are looking for is 'Sugar Plum' you fucking idiot.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Never fear, Medda is here!

Truthfully, Spot was unsure where to look for Race. He’d never been outside this long, long enough that all his fingers were numb and his cheeks ached. Still, he marched on, deeper in the woods. So far, he hadn’t turned back to a nutcracker. Again, Spot was unsure how long that this transformation was going to last but he forced himself to not think about it. 

When he stumbled on a theatre, in the middle of the woods, Spot knew that it was no normal theatre. Magic seemed to crackle in the air, waft around and smelled sickly sweet. As he knocked on the door, Spot wrinkled his nose. The door smelled of gingerbread and the windows seemed to be frosted? The smell alone was enough to make his eyes water. He knocked again, harder this time. 

The doors were thrown open, Spot jumped back to avoid being hit by them. On the threshold stood a woman dressed in pink from head to toe. She smelled of something sweet but Spot couldn’t put his finger on. Some kind of sweet. She placed her hands on her round hips. “Spot Conlon, it took you long enough!” 

Spot, somehow, knew what to say. “Miss Medda, it’s been too long.” Spot was pretty sure that he’d never seen this woman in his life, no matter how familiar she seemed. She swept him inside, leaving Spot to wonder if the entire theatre was made of sugar or sweets of some kind. The seats seemed to be made out of brittle and gingerbread, the lights for the stage were spun sugar and honey. The aisles were lined with peppermint sticks and gumballs. 

“I don’t...I don’t think we’ve met,” Spot remarked, his head spinning with confusion. Everything felt familiar but Spot was so sure that he’d never been here before. Yet the girls on the stage waved at him, one even shouting his name with a smile. He returned it before confusion made his scowl returned. 

“No, darling, we haven’t.” Medda swept him up the stage, heading towards the rooms towards the back of it. Spot noted how much bigger it was. Seemed like its bigger on the inside, He thought. 

“Then how do you know me?” 

“I know all the nutcrackers,” Medda explained, opening a door for Spot to enter. He walked in to find a kitchen with, of course, more sweets. Windows frosted with icing and sugar, ovens of decorated brittle. Spot was offered a seat, along with a plate of cookies. Although the smell of all of it was going to make him sick, Spot gladly ate them. 

“Whattya mean ‘all the nutcrackers?” Spot said, still chewing the cookies. 

Medda looked at him with disgust. “Chew with your mouth closed.”

Spot swallowed and mumbled an apology. Only then Medda continued. “By far, you are not the first nutcracker I’ve seen come to life. I’ve met one named just Nutcracker, then another named Josef….there was that one chasing a girl that one time. Drosselmeyer makes the toys and I meet them. You all have similar souls.” 

“And?”

“It’s why everything looks familiar.” 

“Oh.”  Medda sat next to him. “Do you know where Race is?”

“ _That's_ the name of your Clara? What kind of name is Race?!!” she exclaimed. 

Spot frowned. “It’s a perfectly fine name.” Medda snorted but the subject moved along.

“I haven’t seen him but I know who might have an idea.” she started, taking a cookie for herself. 

“Who?”

“The Rat King,”

Spot dropped everything. For whatever reason, his stomach looped itself in knots and his entirely body radiated dread. “No.” He choked out. A memory of a terrible battle flickered in his head, a memory that wasn’t his, of a great monster with seven heads.  _ Seven fucking heads _ . Spot felt like he’d rather die than visit that thing in person. 

Medda, instead, rolled her eyes. “The Rat King is not the monster he used to be,” 

“A monster, nevertheless.” remarked Spot.

“You’re a living breathing nutcracker. What do you have to lose?” 

Another memory flickered through his head, one of a world full of sweets. A grand castle made of sugar and icing, decorated in purple candies and frosting, with Medda sitting on the throne. “You were a queen, weren’t you?” He asked, narrowing his dark eyes at her. 

She looked away, the feathers in her hat swaying with her. “Once,” She said tightly, “Before it was stolen from me,” 

“By the Rat King?” asked Spot. 

Medda snorted and shook her head. “Something worse than the Rat King, believe me,” she said darkly. It made the hairs on Spot’s neck raise. They stayed quiet for some time. 

“I just want to find Race. How far is the Rat King’s lair?” Spot said quietly, after the cookie plate was empty, his stomach aching no longer. His cheeks were rosy and his fingers finally stopped hurting from warming. 

Medda’s eyes glanced to a peppermint grandfather clock. “It’s not that far...a day or two walk. If you  _ must  _ go then you’re leaving with some food.” She said it as if Spot had a choice. Like he’d abandon his search for Race and visit for a while. Her tone tugged a string in his heart but Spot shook it off. He  _ needed  _ to find Race. He promised. 

“I have to go,” he insisted. Medda gave a sad little nod before getting up, gathering up some food and a flask for him. He got up and helped her. “What do I say to him to ensure he doesn’t...attack me?” Spot asked, still quite frightened from the memory but determined. 

“He’s not a savage, just say you want to talk.” scoffed Medda, packing Spot’s supplies in a bag before plopping it in Spot’s arms. Water, food, a tent, some supplies for fire, all wrapped up as if she’d expected it. Perhaps she did. 

“This way.” She led him to the back door and opened it. “Just keep going south. Rest when night falls and keep goin’ in that direction. If you see mice and rats, then you’re going in the right way. You’ll know it by sight.” 

“Thank you, Queen Medda,” said Spot. He was grateful, truly. 

She pulled him in a hug before letting him go. “Take care of yourself!” She called after him. He waved and then she yelled something else. “It’s sugar plums, you idiot!!” Ahh….so that was it. Sugar plums. Whatever those were. Spot marched on, heading to the Rat King’s lair with a pit of dread in his stomach. 

The first night went well. Spot pitched his tent, slept on animal furs, then got up to move on. Sure enough, Spot felt the eyes of larger and larger mice watching him as he walked deeper in the woods. It made him more uneasy but the thought of finding Race pushed him forward. Medda was right. He knew it when he saw it, a great cave with rats and mice skittering in and out of. Spot approached carefully, his back straight with his knuckles white around the bag’s strap. 

More than sixty rats stopped, turned, and watched him with eyes that felt….not like their own. “I just want to talk,” Spot swallowed hard, trying to contain the fear in his voice. The rats considered his statement then all of them turned, scurrying into the cave. Spot took this as a sign of good faith and plunged into the mouth of the cave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So when I wake up, there's usually like music playing in my head? Like actual music, not from like my kindle, it's just my head. So today, I woke up to Medda Larkin singing 'That's Rich' and a comment saying something along the lines of 'Medda is the sugar plum fairy' and honestly. This chapter just feels so right.
> 
> Also, in the comments, drop your ideas on who should be the Rat King! I have an idea but I'd like your opinions!


	4. Finch is missing. Albert is pissed off.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot meets a determined little mouse.

Spot didn't like his odds. Horrifying memories flickered through his thoughts. Memories that weren't his but still remained. Gushing blood, a broken sword, men lay dying, and the throwing of a...shoe? What was that??? Spot did his best to shake off his worries as he walked deeper in the cave but they still remained. The mass of rats and mice grew bigger and Spot was forced to watch his step to avoid stepping on a tail and accidentally kill one. He knew he was supposed to be disgusted but he was intruding on the rat's territory so...did he really have the right? _No_. Spot thought. _I don't._

He stopped at the mouth of an inner cave. Outside of it stood three strange looking men. They looked half human and half rat. With pointed noses, whiskers, and large ears on top of their heads. Two stood on either side, while the biggest stood in the entrance. "You're Spot, aren't you?" said the biggest.

"Yes," said Spot, knowing that he should be polite, as not to get the shit beaten out of him by the two guards. They weren't that big but with their frowns and bowler hats, Spot decided that he wasn't in the mood for a fight. Didn't have time for a fight, hell he needed to find Race!

"Right this way," The biggest rat lead Spot down a long hallway, heading towards some sort room. Spot didn't make small talk, didn't make a pep. Perhaps it was the awful atmosphere or the thousands of rats but Spot wasn't feeling chatty. They entered a throne room where a pale man sat on a stone throne. In front of of it, arguing, was a smaller mouse with bright red hair. 

 "Spot Conlon has arrived,  King Pulitzer." Said the rat. The boy quenched his argument and stepped away, wringing his tail in his hands. The king was more rat than man with sharp teeth and a thick, pink tail. He had only one head, not seven. Relief flooded Spot. 

 "You're dismissed, Wiesel," said the king. He left but the first mouse stayed out of sight. Then Pulitzer turned his attention to Spot. "You are the Nutcracker?" He narrowed his black eyes at him. 

 "I am." 

"And you're here for information about your Clara?" Asked the Rat King, his claws gripping the armrests of his throne as if something was annoying him. Spot's head gave a bare nod. "I don't have him." He said with be growl. Spot noticed how the king sat. As if he was ready for a fight, almost itching for one. 

Spot shifted on his feet. "I know you do not have him." Then feeling more brave for like five seconds, Spot said "What's your problem? I'm not here to fight you." 

Pulitzer huffed. "I have met many nutcrackers. We always fight." 

 Spot blinked. "Not to be rude, but that's not it."

"Of course, it's not!!!!" cried the forgotten mouse. He marched out to in front of the throne again. "Princess Katherine is missing!!! And so is Finch and you've done nothing!!!" His cheeks flush with anger and while he looked scared, his eyes were determined. 

 "Albert! This conversation is over!" thundered the Rat King but Albert held his ground. He was just mouse, not even a rat but he had love and determination. Some might call it stubbornness. 

 "No!! Your daughter and the love of my life are missing!!!!" He cried, fire in his eyes. "You have spies everywhere! You have to know something!!!!" He protested furiously. 

"Albert!!!!" 

"Wait...what?" asked Spot, slightly confused on the argument he missed.

Albert turned to face Spot. "Princess Katherine went missing almost a week ago! And now Finch is missing!!" His voice hit an almost whine when he spoke of Finch, the one he called the love of his life. Spot shared his pain. Race was his Finch, both were desperate to find the other. 

"I won't waste soldiers looking for a little songbird!!" the Rat King shouted. 

 "You wouldn't waste soldiers on your own daughter!!!" Albert shouted back. 

 "Wait, I can help!" Spot stepped forward. "We can go looking for them, just point us in the right direction!"

The Rat King growled but he knew that this was the bottom line. Not only would he get rid of Albert but the Nutcracker as well. "Head north. Seek out Josef." Albert nodded as if he knew where they were going . 

 "Come on," he told Spot with a twitch of his big ears and rushed out of the rooms. Spot followed. "I'm Albert," he introduced himself halfway down the hallway. On the way, they grabbed some more supplies as well as coats for Albert. 

"Spot. Whose Finch?"

"My.... " Albert paused, looking for the right words with flushed cheeks. "My boyfriend. Who's Clara?"

"His name is Race," they stopped at the exit of the cave. 

"We're actually doing this," Albert said.

 "Yeah." 

 "For Race," Albert said

 "For Finch." replied Spot.

Together they walked out of the cave, marching north. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter was a bitch. Again, no planning, just straight out writing. I need to plan shit. And yes, I know that we agreed the newsies were going to be nicer creatures. But Albert just strikes me as a mouse. I don't know why.


	5. My head hurts, there's a shitload of snow, and who the fuck are you two???

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At long last, Race wakes up. And it took like 5 chapters. The boy can sleep.

Race woke up with a hell of a headache. All around him was just snow and more snow and grey. The sky was a slate grey, the grey of cement mixed in with your porridge. Mushy and permanent. Sort of like the ache in his head that didn't want to go away. Race slowly sat up, ignoring his bodies cries of pain, and rubbed his eyes.

 It wasn't the first time he'd woken up. During the journey, he'd woken up _twice_ only to be bludgeoned with a rock or a club again. These two times combined into a decent concussion that kept Race in and out of commission. Once he'd gotten to his new home, aka a cell, he'd slipped in and out of sleep. Sometimes he'd wake up to see a mouse and a songbird. The next time, a girl and a boy in deep conversation before he passed out again. This time, neither of these creatures or humans were in sight. 

Race climbed out of his bed, soft and hard at the same time. He still wore the clothes of the party, that wonderful night with Spot. His heart lurched. _Spot_ but he forced himself to focus. The floor was cold against his feet, as Race moved towards the entrance of the cell. The interesting part was there was no door. Nothing to keep them from leaving. Race soon found out why. 

Other than a small cliffside to stand on, there was nothing outside the entrance. Just a sheer drop and more mountain, a cold wasteland. Escape was a death sentence. Race headed inside before he froze to death. That's when he first noticed the other room as well as the voices. He peaked his head in to find a rather decently sized room. Inside this room was a kitchen of sorts with a large fireplace and a table. At this table sat two strange people.

The first was the girl he remembered. She had rich brown hair that curled at the ends with deep brown eyes. Her purple dress was starting to become more ragged, patches danced along the skirt. The odd part was that she had whiskers, mouse ears, and a thin, pink tail. The boy was even more unusual looking. His pale blonde hair looked more like feathers, although it was covered by a hat, he had full-fledged wings of a zebra finch, and his eyes were jet black. They both turned to look at Race. 

"Oh! He's awake!!" cried the girl, quickly getting up. 

"About time," the songbird crossed his arms, watching Race. 

"Hey....um, who are you?"  asked Race, scratching the back of his head. Shit, he had a bump. That wasn't going away anytime soon.

"I'm Katherine," introduced the girl. 

"Finch." 

Race followed in suit. "I'm Racetrack...why are we here?" 

Finch stretched out his wings, careful not to knock anything over. "We were stolen. For what reason, I dunno." 

"Finch and I have been debating since he got here!" pipped in Katherine. 

"How long have you been here?" asked Race.

Katherine tilted her head, ears twitching. "Two weeks? Maybe more." 

"I got 'ere a week ago." 

"And how long have I been out?"

"For three days!" Race blinked in shock. Three days? It didn't feet like three days had passed. Was anyone looking for him? _Spot would come looking for me._  A little voice whispered in his head before he squashed it. _No, he wouldn't. I haven't so much as looked at Spot for the last four years until last night._  He thought bitterly. He should have dragged his heels in and kept his mother away from his nutcracker but he was tired of the arguing. He'd given in. 

"So what's yer role in this?" asked Finch as the two of them sat at the table. Katherine nudged a bowl of soup in Race's directions and he was eating slow. 

"My role?" asked Race. Katherine and Finch shared a look.

"Ya know, yer role," Finch tried again. Again, Race stared in absolute confusion. "Shit, you don't fuckin' know? Okay. Kathy over here is the daughter of the Rat King - "

"My name is Katherine!" she protested. 

"Whatever, and my boyfriend is a mouse that usually helps strange people. So what is ya role? Why were _you_  taken?" Finch finished. Race thought on it, chewed on some potatoes and corn. The broth burned his tongue but it was delicious. 

"I....I have this nutcracker." Both Katherine and Finch raised an eyebrow, leaning in closer. 

"And?" Katherine pressed. 

"Well....He's a magic nutcracker." 

Finch turned to Katherine. "There it is." He stretched out his arms and his wings. "That's the reason he's'ere." 

Katherine nodded. "He's Clara," she whispered. 

Race's brows furrowed. Clara? His name wasn't Clara! Besides, Clara was a _girl's_ name! "My name is Race." he said with determination. 

Finch shook his head. "Yeah but that's yer role." 

"My what?!"

Katherine tried her best to explain. "This world runs mostly on free will and destiny but some of us follow this....this play. It's called _The Nutcracker_. While the plot, the characters, and even the setting always vary, the roles stay the same. My dad's the Rat King. Finch loves a very important mouse and you...well, you're Clara." 

 "Who's even Clara??" Race forced himself on one thing instead of self-combusting over the idea of the whole...play and roles thing. 

"Clara's the main girl. She has a magic nutcracker and started this all...became a queen or something by the end or whatever." Finch added, picking at a loose feather. 

"And I'm her?"

"You got a nutcracker, right?" Race nodded. "Then yeah. Ya are." 

Katherine let out a gasp and slammed her fist on the table. The other two jumped, staring at her. "I know why we're here now!"

"And...?"

She started wringing her tail, pacing back and forth all around the room. Finally she turned, her face pinched with worry. "We're bait. It's got to be a trap and we're the bait!" She cried, returning to her pacing. 

Finch's face dropped. "Oh shit. Albert...." then he cursed, slammed his own hand on the table and began to mumble.

 _But Spot won't come for me._ Race thought. There was no way that sweet, loyal Spot would come for Race, who abandoned Spot for the approval of his mother. _He wouldn't...or would he?_  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is shorter than most but...I think it's still good.


	6. I’m chasing dreams of your lips. Get back here!!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot and Albert talk about their boyfriends. It's adorable.

Albert was used to the cold. The cave, other than the fires, offered no natural heat. Spot was just starting to get used to it. Their teeth chattered at night, as did their bodies shake but neither complained. As they walked, northbound, they often talked about Finch and Race or their old lives, or anything.

“So, this Race.” Albert started as they began a long climb up another hill. Truly, after a while, they marked their progress in hills. Get to the top of this one, climb down, then start on the next. Over and over again. “What does he look like?”

“Racer?” Spot paused only for a second before marching on. “Racer’s….tall.”

“That’s it??” Albert sighed, his tail tied inside the coat not to get frostbite. His cap firmly covered his ears although they poked out just a little. “Geez, is this howare we goin’ to do it now? Just in little short stuff like ‘he’s tall’?”

“I’m thinking!” Spot huffed, hiding reddened cheeks in his scarf. “Race has golden curls. Gold like sunlight….he’s got blue eyes. Bright blue in the right light but deep when it's dark.” _Like at the stairs_ , he thought. _The night sky then, dark and bright with stars._

“Sounds like a real looker,” remarked Albert, watching Spot with knowing eyes. He looked like when his friends were in love. He knew that he looked like that when he was talking about Finch. Eyes half glazed over, a soft smile on the lips, and pale pinks on the cheeks.

“Guess so,” Spot muttered, burying his face deeper in his scarf.  “What about your songbird?” Albert sighed, now it was his turn to look like that lovestruck idiot. But he didn’t really mind, he was still head over heels for Finch.

“Finch, his name is Finch.” He reminded Spot. “Finch is pretty much the same size as me, except he got these big wings.” He still remembered when he first met Finch, when they were both kids.

_“I thought ya rats were supposed to stay inside.” said a little boy, high up in a tree. His wings were barely big enough to hold him but he’d climbed up._

_“I’m a mouse,” Albert said._

_“Same thing,”_

_“Is not!”_

_“Is too.” Finch blew a raspberry as if that won the argument._

_“And no! We’re allowed to come outside!” That was a lie. Mice really weren’t allowed to go outside, not in the winter, as they were easy prey to anything. Albert only left on a dare. Twenty minutes outside, not even in his mouse form! Seemed easy enough._

_“I only always see them rats.” remarked the bird, moving from his branch to a lower one._

_“And I only see bigger birds. What are you doin’ out of your nest?” Albert crossed his arms, trying to make his stance. Birds called their territory ‘The Nest’, the little ones weren’t allowed to leave until they were able to fly._

_“Errr. I might have….left without permission.” stammered the boy._

_“And you’re picking on me?!!!!”_

_“Hey, shuttup!!!”_

_Albert stuck his tongue out at him. The bird followed in suit. “What are you anything?”_

_“I’m a finch.”_

_“A finch?”_

_“Yeah!” The boy spread his tiny wings, demonstrating. “That’s what they call me.”_

_“So...you’re a finch….named Finch?”_

_Finch leaned forward slightly, jet eyes narrowed. “You got a problem with it?”_

_“No, but -” Then Finch fell and landed with a thump. Albert screamed but Finch popped up quickly enough. Thankfully, the snow prevented him from breaking his face. He scowled, climbing to his feet and started shaking his wings, some snow hitting Albert._

_Albert screams quickly turned to laughs. “What’s so funny?!” Finch hissed._

_“Nothing, just your face.” Albert let loose another laugh._

_Finch rubbed it. “Guess it was pretty funny,” He cracked a smile. They laughed together._

_“I’m Albert,” Albert stuck out his hand towards Finch._

_“Finch,” They shook. Smiling._

“Uh….Albert? Did you die or something?” Spot’s voice drew Albert out of his memories. Albert gave himself a hard shake.

“Just memories, sorry.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Spot waved it away. “So how did a songbird and a rat start dating?”

“I’m a mouse.”

“Aren’t they the same thing?”

“Ugh.” sighed Albert, deciding to just let it go. “We met when we were kids and we just….fell in love? I guess.” Albert never really knew when Finch and him started dating. One minute they were friends the next something _more_ . They didn’t even know when their dating anniversary was. It just... _happened_.

“Kay,” They continued to march. After a while, Spot opened his mouth to kill the silence.  “What do you think is waiting for us? “

“King Pulitzer said to seek out Josef.” Albert shivered, pulling the coat tighter to him.

“But who the hell is Josef?” asked Spot, his brow furrowed.

“I don’t know.”

“That makes two of us…” mumbled Spot with a sigh. They continued to trudge along, heading north. There was no use in pitching camp, not in this weather, so they just kept moving. A mountain stood in the horizon, far away, almost as if it wasn’t really there. Eventually, they were forced to make camp, laying side by side on animal hides.

“Sleep in intervals?” whispered Albert, his breath fogging in front of him.

“I’ll get first watch,” Spot murmured. Albert mumbled his thanks before falling in a quick sleep. Spot stayed upright, hand resting on the sword that he hadn’t even drawn _once_. After a couple of mind-boggling boring hours, Albert woke up and they switched places. Spot shut his eyes, willing sleep to take him.

_“Hey. Spotty,” A familiar voice nudged him. Spot opened his dark eyes and blinked. He was in a bed with soft blankets and pillows against his back. Beside him was Racetrack, standing not too far from the bed. “Are you nodding off already? I knew I should’ve kept you away from those girly drinks -”_

_His lips moved on their own. “But I like cosmopolitans,”_

_Race was taking off his party clothes. A laugh slipped from his perfect lips. “More like you like the vodka.”_

_Spot frowned, leading to another laugh from Racer.  “Awwww, Spotty, don’t pout,” Race sat on the bed, leaning close to Spot’s face. “Want me to kiss it better?” He teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. Spot wanted to get lost in those eyes that were deeper than the oceans and brighter than the sky._

_“Maybe,” He half-muttered. One last laugh from Race before their lips touched. The only time Spot remembered kissing Racer was the party but this...this wasn’t under those stairs. This wasn’t some mind-blowing kissing, this felt familiar. Familiar enough that he knew to nibble on Racer’s bottom lip, knew Race would groan._

_Race pulled away with a smile. “In a little bit, okay? Just let me undress. Mother’ll kill me if I get these dirty.” He got up, moving to strip down to his drawers. Spot didn’t look away. “Remember when we ran away from that party when I was eleven? Danced in the snow and rolled in the mud?”_

_A smile curled on Spot’s lips. “You got grounded for a week.” Race joined him in the bed, flickering the lights down low._

_“Yeah, I did,” He snuggled in Spot’s side, getting to where he exactly wanted under Spot’s arm. Their eyes locked, a smile slipped on his lips. “I love you, Spotty,” Race’s smile widened as he watched Spot’s cheeks flush red, how his breath got caught up in his throat._

_“I love you too,” He whispered before kissing him. They kept kissing and kissing, at some point they flopped, Race was on top of Spot with Spot’s hands around his waist - it felt natural. Familiar, as if they’d done this before. Lots of time. Race whimpered in his ear as Spot left bruises on his neck, soft groans at every bite._

_“Spot~” He moaned as crashing his lips against Spot’s, tongue and all._

Spot sat straight up, his face hot and burning. Albert was staring at him, inching away. “What the fuck, Spot?”.

“What was I doing?” At this point, Spot might die from embarrassment. 

“Groaning. Need some time alone?”

Spot groaned. “I'm going to take a leak.” He mumbled as he walked out. “Fucking dreams….fucking Racer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Every time I get closer and closer to writing smut and every time I stop before it gets too interesting. We'll get there eventually.


	7. Sad Announcement

I'm sorry to say but today there's no chapter. The next one is in the works but it's really long and I'm so tired today. I had a concert and saw my estranged father so....tired. 

I promise that the next chapter will be really long and not disappointing. I'm sorry but I hope you understand. 

With a lot of love and sprace, javid, mush, and redfinch,

Queen. 


	8. Answers. It's about time.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New chapter!! Just like I promised. First of all, thank you for all your well wishes. It really brought my spirits up. Now on to the gay!

~~~~After an awkward night, Spot and Albert marched on, climbing one hill after another. The days were shorter, they began to sleep during the day and travel at night. Made sense, the sun kept them warm while they slept. Finally, Spot saw something on the horizon. “You see that?” He pointed, squinting at it. Two black spots, far far away.

Albert narrowed his eyes. He _could_ see it but was it real? “Yeah, what do you think it is?”

“I have no idea,” Spot admitted. “Shelter? A house?”

“Maybe it’s a barn.”

“We should probably head there,” Spot amended, lifting up the bag on his shoulder. Their supplies were running out, slowly. They had enough for another….day or so? Two days if they ate the sweets Medda gave Spot ages ago. Turns out, sugar plums last for _a while_.

“Yeah,” They fell in their silent strides, motivation appearing when they really needed it, heading towards the black spots. Over time, the spots grew into something a little more sensible. One became a house and the other was a big barn. As they got closer, Albert was able to see the bright red door on the house, the faded blue shutters covered in snow, and the stone path slicked with ice.

Carefully they stumbled up the path, climbed up the porch. Despite the fact that Spot couldn’t reach the door knocker, he knocked. Standing on his toes that is. When there was no answer, he knocked again, harder this time. Shelter and safety were so close….Spot’s face felt numb, his cheeks rosy red. Spot didn’t realize he was leaning against the door until it opened and he nearly fell through it. Albert pulled him back at the last minute.

Standing in front of them was a man in his late twenties. He had dark hair cut short with a soldiers posture. He wore simple clothes, his face was handsome but the main feature was his strange bright blue eyes. Spot’s heart sputtered as he thought. _Like Race._ But that wasn’t exactly true...these were different. Spot couldn’t put his finger on it. It was probably the shade or the shape. “Yes?” The man asked hesitantly, his dark brows furrowed at the boys.

Spot opened his mouth to speak but his words deserted him. He was just _so tired._  Why? He’d gotten enough sleep, eaten enough, this didn’t make sense. Thankfully, Albert was there. “Are you Josef?” he asked, half holding the nutcracker upright.

“I am,”

“Oh, thank god,” muttered Albert. This caused Josef’s frown to deepen.

“Why are you asking?” His knuckles were white against the door as if he was considering to shut it. _That’s fair._ Spot thought. _We are pretty strange looking_.

“We’ve been looking for you,” Albert told him before adding, “The Rat King sent us.”

Josef blinked then opened the door wider. “You better get inside,” He stepped aside, those strange eyes watching the boys stumble in his home. “Is something wrong with your friend?” He asked, staring at Spot.

“I think he’s just tired, really, we’re both tired.” Albert amended. Josef nodded and lead the boys to a living room, allowing them to collapse on the couch. Spot slumped, sighing with….emotion. He was too tired to exactly describe it.

“Josef?” came a voice from another room. Josef’s eyes light up a little as another man, the same age as Josef with lighter hair and green eyes, entered the living room. “Hon, you should’ve told us we had guests,”

“Frederick, can you make some tea?” Fredrik planted a quick kiss on Josef’s cheek before he disappeared to brew some tea. Spot watched with sort of interest. _I want that,_ he thought, head muddled with tiredness. Josef sat down in front of the two. “Let’s start simple. What are your names?”

“Spot.”

“I’m Albert.”

Josef kept staring at Spot, narrowing his eyes at his clothes. Sure, the uniform had seen better days, although Spot kept washing it in streams, it wasn't anything special, generic for a nutcracker. “You’re a nutcracker, aren’t you?” He asked Spot as Frederick brought in four cups of tea. Spot took the cup and drank it down, it had something else in there. Sugar? Either way, it woke him up from his tiredness.

“Is it that obvious?” He asked, setting the teacup on the saucer.

Josef shook his head, not touching his tea. “I used to be one.” He rested a hand on his chest as if concentrating on the beating of his heart. Spot related, he was shocked he’d made it this far without turning back.

“Used?” question Spot. That word caught him as if Josef wasn’t a nutcracker anymore. Was it possible to turn into a human and stay like that?

Josef nodded. “I belonged to this girl called Clara Zaherhaust. I played my part for as long as I managed but I always wanted... _more_.” Albert and Spot made no move to interrupt him, so Josef continued. "I broke away. Frederick and I ran as far away as we could." 

"That we did," Frederick took his lovers, maybe even his husband's hand and gave it a light squeeze. "Of course, we went back for the rest of Droessen’s creations," he added. 

Spot stared at them. Droessen. Who on earth was that? "Who?" 

Josef blinked. "Wait, you're not one of Droessen's creations?" 

Spot shook his head. "Father name was Drosselmeyer, not Droessen." Now it was Josef's turn to stare.

"Drosselmeyer? I supposed he might have changed his name but you were made by a man with blue eyes, yes? Like mine?" 

Again, Spot shook his head. "Father had dark eyes like mine." Josef leaned back against his chair,

“Are you absolutely sure?” He ressed.

Spot nodded.

Josef was quiet for a long time, his husband gently took his hand and held it tight. The former Nutcracker seemed to mull over Spot’s answers. “Were the other toys...were they like you?” He asked at long last.

“We came to life every night and threw a big party,” Spot said with a smile, the memory of the music and dancing flickered through his head. This seemed to soothe Josef, as he leaned back in his chair, Frederick’s grip loosened.

“We were built by different men, then,” he remarked, a wistful look in his strange blue eyes. There was a settled silence, the soft slurping of tea, before the talk of business returned. “You said the Rat King sent you?”

Albert perked up and nodded. “People are going missing. The current Clara, the Rat King’s daughter, and Finch!”

“Finch?” asked Frederick with a slight frown. The first two made sense but why did a songbird matter?

Albert flushed. “My boyfriend,” he muttered.

“Ahhh.”

Meanwhile, Josef was frowning. “Clara went missing?” he asked.

“His name is Race and yeah, he was kidnapped. We thought that you...you might be able to tell us who is doing this.” Spot explained, the latter part much more hesitant. Josef didn’t really look like a seer. Plus he used to be a nutcracker….used. _How had he done that?_ Spot thought. _I’ll ask him later._

“I can’t,” Josef stood, his knees cracking. “But my sister can.” The others stood with him as Josef lead them out of the house and into the barn. The barn, truth be told, was odd. It was half a barn and half a house. On one section was hay and stalls but then it shifted to wood floors and stairs to the loft. All sorts of animals wandered around from a lion to gazelles. There was the light chatter of people in other rooms. “Selina?” Josef cupped his hands around his mouth and called. “Selina!” He repeated. Chatter ceased in a room, someones footsteps of running down the stairs filled the room.

A young woman emerged at the bottom of the staircase, dressed in silks and beads. Her dark hair hung over her shoulders to the middle of her back and although it was winter, her dress had no sleeves, showing off her caramel skin. “Yes, brother?” She asked an accent danced on her words.

“This is my sister, Selina, she was also made by Droessen.” explained Josef, “She can see the past, present, and future. Selina, these boys have questions for you. Would you be kind enough to answer them?” He asked, giving Selina every right to deny or accept. She hesitated, thinking on it for a minute, before nodding.

“I’ll do it.” She turned and ran back up the stairs, leaving the boys to follow her. She turned left down a hallway then entered a room, the door wide open for the others to enter. Selina sat at a table, slowly lighting the candles one by one. Albert and Spot exchanged glances, Frederick and Josef leaned in the doorway.

“I can read hands, tarots, even eyes to see the future. Crystal balls are fickle but effective,” Salina explained as the boys sat before her, watching. They’d discarded their coats. “Hands.”

They exchanged glances before Spot stuck his hand out. She took it in her own, studying the lines. She muttered softly to herself. “You’re destined for love...but you know that…” Spot’s cheeks flushed as she continued. “You are like us?” She looked up, her deep brown eyes staring in Spot’s very soul.

He nodded and she dropped his hand. “I’m going to need the crystal ball for this,” She turned, pulled the velvet cloth from it and set it on its stand in the center of the table. “Who are we looking for?”

“Race!”

“Finch!”

Both of them shouted the two names at the same time, Salina held her hand up. “One at a time,” she reprimanded them, her eyes narrowd. 

Spot cleared his throat. “Racetrack,” He said slower.

“Finch,” Albert repeated.

Salina took the names in stride and stared deeply in the crystal ball. “They’re together…” she muttered, both of the boys perking up. “In...a mountain. Oh, dear….they’re in _his_ clutches.” She hissed under her breath.

“In _who’s_ clutches?” Spot pressed.

Salina took a breath, her lip wobbling a little. “The Puppeteer, Drosselmeyer and Droessen ‘s father.” For reasons that even they didn’t know, all of them paled. Spot felt his heart start beating fast, although he tried his best to remain calm.

“Why did he take them?” Albert pressed, forcing himself to calm down. They weren’t dead, at least. That took some weight on his shoulders and they knew where to head! Salina narrowed her eyes at the ball as if trying to will the answers to appear.

“I…” She paused, sounding unsure for the first time, “I can't see that.”

Josef rested a hand on her shoulder, “It’s okay, Sal, you can’t see _everything_.” She sighed, nodding in defeat.

“Thank you for everything,” Spot said, standing. Now, they had a location. That mountain. He knew where Race was. It was time to get Race back.

It was Frederick that looked at him oddly. “You really aren’t going to leave now, are you?”

Spot bit on his bottom lip. “Yes?”

Frederick let out an exasperated sigh. “You nutcrackers are all the same!”

“Hey!” complained Josef.

“You don’t get a say in this,” He told his husband and turned to the boys. “You are staying for dinner, you can stay the night, and we’ll see you off in the morning.”

“Okay,” Albert answered quickly before Spot did something stupid and refused a hot meal and bed. Spot gave him a look of betrayal but he refused to look at him. Salina blew out her candles as they left her room, returning to the big house. Frederick led the boys to two separate rooms, allowed them to settle and relax in the hours before dinner. Spot jumped at the opportunity to shower and change his clothes. Albert curled up on the bed and got some much needed sleep.

Josef came to rouse them for dinner, leading them to the giant dining room with the long table already filled past the probably allowed capacity. The room was filled with chattering and clamoring for seats, food was being set down and brought. Josef left to help his husband who was doing his best to dictate what food went where, stuff like all. Immeadeadly, people pounced on Albert and Spot, asking questions on who they were, where they were going, the when, how's, and whys. Without too much social anxiety, they managed to survive and actually enjoyed themselves. The food was good, the company was merry, and Spot hadn't felt this relaxed since he'd left his Father's shop.

However, always the introvert, after dinner Spot needed some peace and quiet. He found a small spot and found that Josef was feeling the same way. "Are all nutcrackers introverted?" He asked.

"Seems like it," Josef sat down next to him, rubbing his temples. "I love my siblings but...they're so...." He searched for the right word.

"Loud?" Spot suggested. 

Josef nodded. They sat in collective silence, slowly recharging before Spot couldn't stop himself. "How did you do it?"

"Do what?" He turned those strange blue eyes on Spot. 

"Changed. Shifted for good." Spot stared at the floor, trying to make sense of what he wanted to say. Instead, it came out all jumbled but Josef seemed to get it.

"I thought you knew," His brows furrowed as Spot shook his head. "But you've been traveling for weeks like this -"

"Just because I'm doing it, doesn't mean I _understand_ it." A light lit up in Josef's strange blue eyes as if he understood now. 

"It's not that hard," He said softly, "It starts small. A desire, a...a _want_. My first desire was to see past the road by the Zaherhaust Mansion. Then I wanted to see the city that it led to. Eventually it was enough to stick, the transformation stuck. You did something similar, right?"

Spot swallowed hard. "I wanted to find Race."

Josef's eyes softened. "And once you find him?" 

Spot considered it for a long moment, thinking it over. "I'm not going back to that cabinet. I think I'll stick around, for Racer." then he added "And me." 

He patted Spot's shoulder, "That's it, you've got it." He said softly with a smile. 

"Josef??? Josef, where are you?!" called Frederik, somewhere perhaps in the kitchen. "Don't think you're skipping out on the dishes!" Defiently the kitchen. Josef sighed and got up. 

"I gotta go...you better get some rest," Spot nodded and when the once nutcracker left, Spot went looking for his room. He slept soundly on the nice bed with no odd dreams of Racer or the future that _he wanted so desperatly_. Albert and him got up, well rested as they ate their breakfast. Someone packed them new supplies and the very gay former nutcracker and run-away son were sad to see them go. 

"Be careful," said Josef as the boys pulled on their coats. 

"Fuck 'em up," Frederik gave them the good old finger guns and a grin. They both nodded and set out into the wilderness with grim detemination.

This puppeteer man was not going to have a good day. He had both of their boyfriends and a bunch of strings. They were going to fuck this asshole so hard that he was going to regret ever teaching his sons how to carve life out of wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said. This was long. I know this doesn't really follow the Nutcracker story but hey it's a fanfiction and I'm creative as hell. I hope you all like it because I sure as hell do. I want to write that puppeteer guy getting his ass kicked.
> 
> Also, thanks again for all the support, I love you guys and you are all absolutely wonderful.
> 
> Just wanted to mention that I actually suffer from what Spot went through early in this chapter. Random tiredness from time to time. Not necessarily every day but once or twice a week. I call it "soul-tired" because for absolutely no reason I'm just tired. I want to sleep, I'm cranky and....tired. It goes away after a little bit. I'm probably suffering from random bouts of depression and I'm too scared to Google it.


	9. Hello, this is your reality check provided by Davey Jacobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Reality check in the form of Davey Jacobs. Just smacks Race full frontal in the face. Cuz why not.

Race had always been quick to adapt. New boarding school? Easy once you found your niche. Going to a party? Talk some people up then find a corner and hide. What about pretending to be straight? Race knew how to do that by the time he was eight. Being a prisoner really wasn’t that hard, seeing how they were left alone days on end. Still, the solitary might have been mind shattering if they were all alone.

Katherine rarely talked about her week alone before Finch arrived but she had once. “I nearly went mad,” She confessed to him, looking down in shame. “But Finch arrived.” True, Katherine was a mess after she woke up in her cell. Her home was always loud, filled with the sounds of her fellow rats and mice, she was never truly alone until she was kidnapped. The silence alone nearly killed her. Maybe that’s why they took Finch so that the princess wouldn’t kill herself or die from loneliness. 

But Race was lucky, Finch and Katherine were good people. They taught him their little routine in the cell, that every two or three days, food appeared in the kitchen while they slept, how they took turns doing the dishes and cleaning. Finch demonstrated a deck of cards much to Race’s delight. “I’m good with cards,” He told the songbird.

“Yeah, sure,” Finch scoffed but proceeded to be baffled as Race wiped the floor with hands after hands of pure, good luck. "Holy shit, what the fuck. How is this possible?" he shouted at Race, obviously outraged. 

Race shrugged. "My brother and I played cards all the time, just passed the time I guess," Jack wasn't that bad at cards but he more than once lost to Race. Frankly, everyone lost to Race, even Spot who had managed by dumb luck. Finch took the explanation with a sigh as he dealt this time, Katherine already knowing that she was fucked. 

Other than cards, they cleaned, talked, read the few books they managed to find, or sleep. Almost all of them took naps around twelve to three pm. Race wasn't going to complain except for the nagging worry that Spot was doing something stupid, like looking for him. _Stop worrying,_ he told himself, _He's in that cabinet, probably doesn't even know I'm gone._

But reality came to slam Race full in the head with the arrival of a certain someone. Before you get your hopes up, no. It's not Spot. We got a couple more chapters until that shit happens. That'll be after Christmas when this bitch is less stressed. Who is it? You ask? Well, shut up and listen!!!

One day Race, Katherine, and Finch woke up to another bed in their bedroom cell area and a boy with his face hidden by the pillow. His arms were clawed up and bruised, his face was no doubt worse. To Race he looked familiar with his dark brown hair and those clothes...they looked to be of a newsie??? Katherine climbed out of her bed instantly, rushing over to the new guy's bedside. 

"Oh fuck, is he dead?" Finch rubbed his eyes. 

Katherine checked for a pulse and shook her head. "He's breathing. I'm going to roll him over," She told the boys before carefully, very carefully, she rolled the boy over so that they could see his face. Race didn't try to hush his gasp. He knew this boy or he used to. It was Davey! Davey who was an awkward mess even when they were kids, who would hold on the shell of walnut for an hour rather than throw it out to not draw attention to himself, Davey. Davey who'd been in love with Jack since they were kids. 

 _What's happened to his face?_  He thought as he stared at it. There was a trickle of blood on his mouth, bruises danced along his cheekbones, and a bump on his forehead. Skin fragments were under his nails, scratches covered his arms. Whatever had taken down Davey, the doll put up a hell of a fight. "You know 'em?" Finch asked, staring at Race with raised brows. 

"He's my brothers...." He tried thinking of the right word but then Davey answered. 

"Boyfriend." he coughed, opening up his bright blue eyes. Katherine jumped back a good foot, putting her hands up. "I'm his boyfriend." 

"Since when?!!!" exasperated Race, his brows furrowed. 

"Since that party," Davey sat up, coughing. He rubbed his ribs, feeling to see if anything was broken. When that was to his satisfaction, he moved to his legs, checking his femurs, ankles, and toes. Nothing seemed to be broken, so Davey resigned to turning to his new cellmates. "So this is where you are," He said, regarding Race. Race gave a small nod.

"Hi, I'm Katherine," Katherine introduced herself. Finch waved settling back into bed. 

"Finch." 

"I'm Davey," said the newsie. His real name was David but it'd been years since anyone called him that. Davey was what Jack called him. Davey fit better. 

"Nice to meet you!" Chimed Katherine and Finch. "Night," Finch said before flopping back on the bed and started snoring again. Davey took that in stride. 

"Are you hungry?" Katherine asked, wanted to be a better host than Finch. She was going to at least try. 

Davey shook his head. "I'm fine, thank you." 

Katherine, feeling that there was nothing she could do, went to find a washcloth and some bandages for Davey's face. This allowed Race to get out of his bed and wander over. "What are you doing here, Davey?" He asked, sitting on the bed. 

Davey sighed, laying back down and stretching out. An arm rested on his face, hiding his eyes. "Isn't it obvious? I've been kidnapped." 

"No shit but the last time I saw you, you were in the cabine- wait. Were _you_ that guy Jack was dancing with at the party??!!!!" 

Davey opened his eyes and moved his arms, staring at Race with an exasperated look. "Fuck yeah. That was me." He sighed, shutting his eyes again. "I was going after my brother and got picked up by the puppeteer asshole." 

He'd heard of the puppeteer before so he didn't question that but Davey's brother. Race' heart gave a lurch. "You don't mean...no, he wouldn't." He muttered under his breath. 

Katherine returned and started fixing Davey up. Under his shirt were more bruises and scratches, Katherine had to clean every single one. Davey looked Race dead in the eyes, those piercing blue eyes. "He did. He heard that you were missing and jumped out of the cabinet immediately." 

Race's breath caught in his throat. _No. No. No, he can't!_ But Davey didn't stop. "He's out there, looking for you at this moment." 

"He can't." Race choked out. He wasn't worth it, Spot deserved to go looking for someone who hadn't abandoned him for approval. He deserved someone better than him. He was a mess, he was a party boy that drank away his feelings and probably had a gambling addiction when it came to cards and horses. 

"Spot's coming for you, Racetrack," Those words were both salvation and reckoning. Race wasn't able to decipher which mattered more as he curled back to his bed, his face to the wall as he tried to deny Davey's words. Still, his heart knew it was true. _He loves you,_  It told him but Race denied it. _no he doesn't. he deserves someone better._  

_But he loves **you**._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I mention that Race is a mess?


	10. An Update on Davey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “you, realizing you haven’t included davey in this for a while: i abandoned my boy. i abandoned my boy!” the_athenian_pamphleteer just summed me up in a couple of sentences. A Davey chapter because I love this messy newsie. I should probably you know, check back in on Spot and Albert or something but nah. Davey.

Davey admitted that he looked like absolute _shit_ right now. Really, he’d give anything to be back in the cabinet, where he was wood, cheeks weren’t soft, and he didn’t feel so awful. But Jack gave him puppy eyes and Davey melted. He always got weak-in-the-knees for Jack’s soft brown eyes. Really, he melted for Jack in general.

“You look like shit,” remarked Finch, the boy’s wings tightly tucked in. 

“I _feel_ like shit.” Even his throat felt awful. Everything ached, evening shifting made his body scream out in pain. _Was it necessary for them to beat me?_ Davey thought before his brain kicked in. _Yes, you dumbass, you fought back!_ Did he regret going down swinging not like some weak-willed maiden? Not really, he'd probably do it again. 

“Ya want anything?” It was a couple of hours after Katherine asked him. His stomach rumbled, Finch cracked a grin. “Stay ‘ere, I’ll get ya somethin’.” He left, disappearing in the other room. Davey made no move to follow him, yeah, he was going to be down for a couple of days. Luckily, nothing was broken but Davey was a mess of sore muscles, bruises, and feelings.

He rubbed his face, careful of the bruises. He stared at the ceiling and contemplated what the fuck was his life. Where to start? Davey was one of Drosselmeyer’s normal looking toys. Oh, sure, he was different but not nearly as different as Spot or Warrior. Although he took longer to sell than Father expected. Davey was a simple newsboy, nothing too special. Turned out that Davey was incredibly detailed for a doll. His fingers and toes were movable, with knuckles and all. Davey suspected that Mr.Higgins bought him so that Jack might be able to perfect anatomy with a reliable reference.

Jack did just that. While Race slept in the cabinet for months on end, Davey often found himself rousing as Jack sketched him. He stayed still, barely allowing himself to breathe. As the years went on, he spent more times watching Jack. Watching his eyes, his lips, when he turned to grab a missing paintbrush. He noted what changed, what was still changing, and what stayed. Admired the parts he liked which were everything. _This is just me being observant,_ Davey thought one day. _No,_ his brain contradicted. _This is you being gay._ At the time, he’d sighed and shut his eyes. He slept in the cabinet until Jack needed him again. 

The night of the party, Davey opened his eyes to find Jack looking at him. Spot was gone but he chose to focus instead on the deep brown eyes. “Hey, Davey,” He said softly in an almost hushed whisper as he opened the cabinet door. It made Davey’s heart melt. His fingers carefully took him out of the cabinet and set him on the floor.

Davey never paid much attention to when he changed from wood to flesh. It just happened, another thing he could do. Soon enough he was standing in front of Jack, his hands loosely clasped together. “We got to get you dressed,” Jack muttered under his breath, taking one of Davey’s hands and pulled him out of the room.

“Jack-” Davey started but Jack gave him one of his charming smiles.

“Just go with it, okay, Davey?” Davey’s heart thundered every time Jack said his name. He let himself be pulled up the stairs and in a familiar room. Years ago, Jack and Race were separated in different rooms. Davey didn’t have a single idea what Race’s room might look like but he’d been in Jack’s for sketches and drawings. On the bed was a set of party clothes. A navy blue suit, a black tie, and black dress shoes with grey socks “You know how to tie a tie, right?” Jack picked up the clothes and started handing them to Davey.

“Uh, no????”

“I’ll do it then, come on, get moving!” Jack directed him over to a changing screen, set up especially for him. Hanging the clothes up, Davey undressed in a hurry and dressed in the new clothes. He buttoned up the shirt then the vest before stepping out in the new clothes. Jack already had socks and shoes set up, just waiting for Davey to put on.

In a half an hour, Davey looked like a proper gentleman. “I look weird,” Davey said, rubbing the back of his neck. He’d never looked so….so….fancy! The clothes fit like a glove and he resisted the urge to fidget or pace. Jack was changing in the background, Davey doing his very best not to peak.

“You look fine!” Jack called, walking over in his own party clothes. He grinned, “Look at us, we look like a pair!" Sure enough, Jack was wearing a similar navy blue suit with a black tie. Only, in the mirror, Jack was smiling while Davey looked like a nervous wreck. 

"Jackie, what is this all about? Why are we both in suits?" asked Davey, his brows crinkled together. 

"Isn't it obvious, Dave?" Jack raised a brow. "You're my date to the party," The next thing he knew, Davey found himself at a party, a Christmas party. There were music, bright lights, and people were dancing. Jack's hand was around his waist, casually, as he leads him around, introducing him to people, claiming Davey was from school. 

If Davey was an asshole, he wouldn't have budged but Davey wasn't an asshole since he was, you know, Davey. He played his part, smiled when he was supposed to smile, and tried some food. He found he liked the latkes. "These are good," He told Jack as he ate another. "Like really good." 

"Oh really?" Jack opened his mouth and Davey popped one in. He chewed and nodded. "Delicious." Davey beamed, before grabbing another latke. Most of the night seemed to spiral around one person, at least it did for Davey and that person was Jack. 

"Want to dance, Davey?" Jack asked with a grin. 

"Are we allowed?" 

"Mhm," Davey took his hand and they just swayed. Sometimes the song changed, making the boys dance a little faster but for the most part, they just swayed. Jack's hands were around Davey's waist, his own were loosely on Jack's shoulder. It allowed him to watch, for the most part, Jack but near the end of the party, he saw Race pulling a short, dark-haired boy to the servant staircase. _Is that Spot?_ He thought but then Jack twirled him and the pair were out of his sight. 

For most of the night, the boys partied. They danced, they ate, they talked. Davey knew that it was one of the best nights of his life. He'd think of it fondly in the cabinet, even dream of it. But the night took yet another turn when Jack took Davey back to his room, not the dining room to the cabinet. They sat on the bed, Jack on his back and Davey at the end of it. "Tonight was great," Davey said with a soft, shy smile. 

"Mhm," Jack said, his eyes shut. "C'mere, Davey," Jack got a grip on the back of Davey's suit, tugging him down to him. "Hey," He muttered as Davey shifted with sighs. When he was finally done moving, they were nose to nose, cheek to cheek. Davey's mind noted that _if_ they kissed, their noses would line up perfectly, which in itself is doubtful. 

"Hey," He muttered back. "Thanks for tonight,"

"Enjoyed yourself, didn't you?" Jack's eyes opened, sparkling like hot coals. His mouth spread in a smile, one that burned in Davey's memory. 

"Mhm, it was the best," 

"Want me to make it better?" asked Jack, mischief in his smooth voice. 

Davey lifted his brows. "And how are you going to do that?" he said lightly, curiosity peaking in his voice. 

"Like this," Then he pressed his lips against Davey's. His bright blue eyes widened for two seconds before he shut them. They kissed for as long as they could manage, five minutes maybe even six before breaking apart to breathe. Their lungs heaved slightly, taking in oxygen.

When he could speak, Davey looked Jack dead in the eye and said, "Yeah, that makes it better." 

"Really?" smirked Jack. 

"Shut up," Davey muttered and kissed him again.  They did this all night, lips locked and legs tangled. At some point, they changed in comfy clothes, Jack scrambling to find a shirt that might fit Davey but after that? More kissing and then cuddling.

"What are we?" asked Davey at some point, Jack's head on Davey's chest, curled into him. 

"Guess we're together," mumbled Jack. 

"Jack, this isn't going to work," He said it as softly as possible, even as it broke his heart. "I'll turn back into a doll at the end of everything and, and -" His thoughts were spiraling down. It would never work, not properly. They'd never be normal, literally couldn't be normal. He started sitting up, started to move, more or less waking Jack from his half-sleep. 

"Davey," Jack got a grip on Davey, not a real tight one but enough to center him, "We'll work it out. We'll find a way, I promise." 

"But-"

"Davey, it'll be okay. Okay?" Jack reassured him. With some reluctance, Davey settled down, rested against the pillows. 

"Okay," he whispered. Jack smiled and kissed him again.

When morning came, Davey was a doll again, asleep and content. When he awoke, he was back in the cabinet, his heart twinged with disappointment but Davey smothered it. Spot was beside him, this was where he belonged. 

Then there was a great commotion, a scream followed by sobs. Fast forward to Davey watching his brother jump to his death, fast-forward to Spot being fine but leaving Davey all alone. He tucked away the bitterness in his heart. _Spot's going after what is the love of his life. You're not any use to him or anyone._ Davey closed his eyes and went back to sleep, hushing his worries as he went. Only his sleep didn't last long because the next thing Davey knew, the cabiet door was open and he was back on the floor, growing again. 

Jack was there, tapping his foot, bags on the table along with coats. "C'mon, Davey."

"Where are we going?" He asked, pulling on a coat as they ran to the backdoor. 

"We're going after Race."

"Hey. hey. What yer name again? Davey? Dave? David???? Are you fuckin' dead???" Finch shook him, soup in one hand. Davey blinked, shaking off the memories and sitting up.

"Sorry," mumbled Davey, reluctantly taking the soup. It was some sort of potatoes with a creamy broth and little bits of beef. Davey pratically inhaled it. Finch gently patted his shoulder. 

"Don't worry 'bout it, I think about 'im all the time." the songbird said with a bit of sadness. 

"Who?" 

There was a wistful look in Finch's jet eyes. "My boyfriend." He sighed, sitting on his own bed and pulled his knees to his chin. "'is name is Albert...I miss 'im all the time." He stayed quiet for a little while. "Don't ya have a boyfriend?" 

 A lump formed in his throat but Davey nodded. "His name is Jack," He exchanged, a light blush on both of their cheeks. There was some awkward silence before Finch stood, his wings flaring out a bit. 

"I'mma goin' to let you eat." He said before ducking in the other room. Davey ate up his soup, reflected in the silence. He hoped that Jack was fine, that the shock of Davey being taken hadn't shattered him too much or forced him to do something rash, although he doubted it. We are talking about _Jack Kelly_  after all. Still, Davey hoped that he was fine. He also hoped that his brother was fine. 

In the end, Davey concluded that they weren't fine since the people he loved were normally diasters. Barely functioning diasters. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing like rolling your ankle while trying to feed your dogs.
> 
> Also yeah. This is a day late. My bad.


	11. Christmas Interlude

Hi! It's me again, Queen. I'll be taking a little break for Christmas Eve and Christmas. I'm sorta stressed and all, tis the season. I need to work on my Six of Crows secret Santa thing, also stressed about because of tis the season. So I'm taking a little break. I love you all and I hope you have a happy holiday!

Love,

Queen


End file.
